


F1 One-shots and Drabbles

by teaceylon



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: A bit Dan/Charles-ish, Brocedes, Gen, M/M, Tag As I Go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaceylon/pseuds/teaceylon
Summary: Just a storehouse of one-shots, random conversations, F1 drabbles.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo & Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	1. Daniel Ricciardo & Leclerc, Bianchi

Daniel woke up to the blinding sunshine of mid-day, and saw the silhouette of the brunette by the balcony. Through the gauze white curtains, his figure almost ethereal and unreal, as if the shadow from another time and space, so gentle and tender, ringing a dull pain from old wounds.

He couldn’t really tell the exact time, perhaps some part of him just didn’t want to ruin the moment, that if he checked the time, it’ll be Alice out of Wonderland and got repatriated back to reality.

Some part of him just wanted to stay in the surreal moment, on that particular morning when he was still 18, when he would hit a pint of beer with Jules on the same balcony.

The sun had not changed, mercilessly scorching hot and burning, damp sea wind stick onto the skin, leaving scratches of salt on the arm, with thin layers of coarse, white stripes.

Jules would surprise him with an ice-cold bottle, and they’d talk about, just about whatever teenage boys would be talking about. It was meant to be just another meaningless morning, another usual day under hot Italian sun, another day in the races. He did not expect this faded picture of the youth would come back and haunt him, in those sleepless nights and early mornings when he was hit by dejavu, transporting him back in time.

It was not until then he realized that life is made of these little moments that weaves into eternity.

They were young, and invincible. When he closes his eyes, he’ll feel the cold beer, icy to his bones, the happy laughter, and blind, unnamed yet strong faith towards infinite possibilities of tomorrow, and their whole lives ahead of them.

The memories and the heat of the sun were burnt into memories, as well as the pouring rain in Japan. He thought they would last forever. And they did, though not in a way anyone would have liked. Those moments sealed in eternity, as they watch on, rewind, but cannot not replay.

Men are made of these broken pieces, patched with uneven edges, and then sent off.

“What were you thinking?” Charles came back from the balcony and sit by the bed, the sheets and his shirt smell like sunshine, dried in the same seawind that had visited long ago.

Daniel looked into those green eyes, finding it so familiar, so different from the dark browns of Jules, his hands too close and too far away.

He couldn’t help gently caressing the younger’s cheek, and whispered, “I’ve been in love with you, for so long.”

Tracing his hand to cover Daniel's, Charles silently waited for the moment to pass.


	2. Lewis Hamilton / Nico Rosberg

“What more do you want?“ Lewis raged through the door, another internet article in his smartphone with sensational headlines ‘Rosberg Opinion’.

“You’re popular, you’re the internet sensation, having the time of your life, travelling everywhere to pursue those ‘investments’, those PR activities where you’d be bathed in enough spotlight.” Lewis cannot believe he’s reading another ridiculous comment decorated with Nico’s name, making preposterous assumptions and wrong accusations. “What more do you want? To what extent you’d want to hurt me? Is that what you’re after?”

He was, however, not prepared to see Nico, all distraught, confused and tired with bags under his eyes. The room was filled with sour smell of alcohol, empty bottles everywhere and stains on his white shirt.

“No. I never wanted anything bad with you.”

“Listen to yourself. How fake could you be?” Lewis was furious, but also too frustrated to face Nico properly. He felt petty, if there were still anything lingering feeling for the old stories of their karting days, and if there were still any chance of them fixing things together, it was burnt.

“I used to envy you so much. You’re the genius of 5 languages, the leader in young drivers’ pack, so familiar in the glamorous racing circle. You were what everyone wanted to be, but…”

“But not anymore? You don’t want me anymore?” Nico said, bitterly. “I’ve become an outdated persona, left to be forgotten.”

Lewis sighed. “You’ve won the title, and you get to beat me with it every single time, for the rest of your life.”

“All I ever wanted is to be you, and to get you to look at me, properly.” Nico punched the mattress beside, so hard the whole bed jumped.

Lewis was not expecting this. Not expecting this honesty, and definitely not from Nico, who he had the most strained roller-coaster relationship ever.

“But I still do, I still want to be you, Lewis. I dreamt of those racing image in my head, those scenes when reality blurred because of incredible speed I had, ‘we’ had raced in. But I couldn’t anymore. I still want to be you, to compete with you, the winning driver and most talented, the GOAT. I want to smile genuinely, I want you to like me, and be liked, and be everything you have become.”

He felt his mouth starting to dry. If only he had heard this before Nico decided to retire and leave everything behind. “…You could’ve stayed.”

“Why would I do that? Just so you could have the satisfaction of winning, and I’d lose the last bit of my decency of a champion, and be stuck pathetically with only title I’ve ever won against you?” Nico laughed in desperation, trying to get up from the armchair, but sudden change in position only worsened the hangover.

“You have no idea how difficult it was.”

“Oh c’mon, the tricks we played were mutual, you had your dirty ‘psychological advantage’, I had…”

“You have no idea how it was to be so jealous of the person you love, that you started to hate him and yourself.” With a loud crash of glasses, Nico interrupted their conversation, smashing a bottle to the ground.

“I’ve tried everything to be a good race driver. But I was always that one place behind. And all I really wanted was you, was for you to turn around and look at me. I wanted your attention, your recognition. Look at me, Lewis, yeah, look how that turned out, look who I am now.”

Lewis stared at the blonde, and couldn’t make out a remark.

“Save me.” Nico said silently, planting his face in his palms. “You’re the only one to save me, Lewis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hurts to see how Brocedes fell apart.  
> Although I know tense competition was inevitable with two champion cars in the same team…it’s still hard to see them break apart like that. I’m at a point where I just want the two of them to make up.


	3. Lewis Hamilton / Nico Rosberg

“So this is it.”

Nico handed the signed paper to him, the document he had refused to open or contemplate on for so long, and finally the procedure is completed. “With that final signature, the agent will be able to put this apartment up for sale, and that would be it.”

“Took you long enough.” Lewis flipped through the document, confirming on Nico’s writing, and huffed out, not without a slight bit of sarcasm. “It took you years to finally agree to sell this place.”

Nico looked at him, long and contemplative. “I guess it doesn't really matter now.”

“No, not anymore.” Lewis stopped for a beat, but couldn't find the right words and instead just sighed.

“I’ve got a couple of things in the bedroom to clean up. Don’t wait up, you feel free to go any minute.”

Nico shrugged and stood up, taking a deep breath, as he thought, he might as well take a final tour of the house, the one thing they’ve shared over the years, until just moments ago they’ve agreed to get disposed of.

They bought the apartment together when Lewis won his third world champion title, and they had so many good memories with it. Too many celebrations with too much champagne, in the morning they’d welcome sunrise together, fall asleep in late nights, watching street lamps lit and off at nightfall.

They would held each other dearly, looking at the ocean on the balcony, talking about the most trivial things, getting Coco and Roscoe to Monaco, and wondered if the two would get friendly with Rockstar. How they would change the dark curtains to white blinds, how they would buy a bigger and more comfortable mattress, and how they would one day grow old together in this apartment.

Just that the house never really turn into a home.

They traveled too much. They argued too much. They fought too much.

The broken pieces were never properly patched, and they fell apart eventually, inevitably. As much as he resisted the letting go the final and only thing they’ve shared, the house like a thread keeping them in minimal contact, it still came to an end.

Real estate agent will take good care of this apartment, he believes, when in fact he probably doesn't want to have any involvements with the place ever again.

Nico packed the final toiletries in the bathroom, and was surprised to see Lewis still in the living room, looking out the big French door facing Monaco bay.

_God this man is as beautiful as ever._

Nico wanted to laugh at himself, that after all these years and struggles, even after he’s signed the final agreement to sell the house, he’s still in love.

“I missed the view here.” Lewis said, quietly, perhaps he was reminiscing what they’ve been through as well. “You had the side of the bed not bothered by morning sunlight, but I had to get up and close the curtains every time.”

“Yeah, that’s why we wanted to change the curtains to blinds, and you couldn’t shut up about how many shades of ‘white’ there are.”

“…Yeah. I remember that.” Lewis laughed a little, before his lips curled into an awkward angle. “How did we end up here, Nico?”

Neither of them has the answer to that question.

After a long pause, Nico only mustered “I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same over and over again. I remember how we used to be, how we’d embrace each other after races, how we’d compete even eating a pizza, and how we’d laugh about almost everything.”

“I was so hurt, man.”

“And I remember hiding two rings in the socks, that I planned to ask you to marry me on Christmas.”

Lewis looked at him, hurt and as if he was about to cry. “I knew about that actually. You were so bad at hiding things, and I could see the shape of boxes in that particularly ugly pair of socks.”

Nico felt his decision resolving, and at one point when Lewis looked him deep in the eyes, those dark-brown eyes he had praised and loved so much, and he thought he was about to grab those papers and shred them into pieces, and kiss him, wholeheartedly.

But the moment is not coming back.

“You’re fine now. I’m happy for you.” Nico heard himself saying, and it sounded like a third person speech, so detached and he wanted to cry, but at the same time feeling so full.

“……What about you, Nico?”

He clenched the bag packed with past toiletries that he will throw away just minutes later, the grip so hard, he was sure it will leave half-moon shaped scars in his palms.

“I have business to attend to, my busy career making explosion memes on youtube and all that fancy video editing.”

Lewis looked at him, without saying a word, but he felt the other man said more than enough in silence.

“I will always love you, Lewis.” Nico said, and he hoped he was smiling sincerely. “It will always be my most precious days, with you, when we were young and drunk and happy, and had the promise of a lifetime.”

He knew he had to walk out the apartment fast. He had signed the papers, and there were no point to delay further, that one more minute, he’d reduce into tears.

He practically ran out of the door. And when he was finally reached his car, he let out the breath he had held in himself for so long, as if all of Lewis, the times, the apartment, all came crumbling down. He started sobbing, all the tears stirred up, until he was too tired to resist anything.

“I’ll be fine, too.” He said to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Rockstar (Nico's cat, hasn't seen picture of the cat in ages).  
> Back when Nico & Lewis used to live in the same building, wondering how it'd be if they actually co-owned an apartment.  
> Brocedes is great. Writing them feels like stabbing myself tho.


	4. Charles Leclerc (/Max Verstappen)

He’s the shy kid in class, yearning for attention and acting awkward towards any attempts of advances.

Charles knows, how people look at him differently. He knows what is seen in him, a double vision of Jules, his name trailing with ominous stench of death and tragedies, a youthful challenger not so delightful but shines with blinding lights, a diplomat well trained in PR and less in character. When in fact he knows deep down, he was just as insecure and immature, and if not more, than anyone else.

So he settles in a slightly distant position, hesitant to speak, ‘cause every time he does, he’d create confusion, some out of his own will, some from misunderstanding.

He watches,smiling politely with clumsy interactions and indifference.

He sees the tension of competition beyond the brotherly pat on the shoulder with Pierre, where the latter appeared cheerful, all smiling, but tensed up seeing Charles’ grip on the podium trophy. And perhaps something more, the buried affection that’s more than friendly handshakes, hidden long since their childhood days.

He would grab Pierre’s hand, with a gentle squeeze, tantalise with a teasing tickle in the palm, and be pleased to see blushing flies up the French’s cheek.

Carlos is fun, easy-going and all. Great hair, beautiful body-built, as Charles would grin inwardly at his success and the hardwork to appear effortlessly interesting.

He loves seeing sunshine Daniel, who naturally pulls great humour in everything. He also loves how the Aussie arms himself with big smiles, but in fact struggles to conceal the sad eyes after good shots of alcohol, how he looks at Charles, as if he had seen the ghost from the past.

On the contrary, Lewis, who was not subtle on how he’d like to take the Monegasque to bed, does not shy away from any body contact. He acts, and rightly so, like a king, powerful and gracious in praising Charles and inviting him to join his after-race happy hours, privately.

He would happily oblige, if not for the killer gaze from the blonde Britney in the VIP lounge, the outdated champion, lurking around the peripheral and no longer in the center stage, to whom he would bravely challenge his staring.

But Nico’s eyes do not stay with Charles. Charles would see the lingering attachment, the regret and nostalgia, and poorly concealed longing towards the reigning champion.

 _“Look at me”_ those blue eyes shout, but would mute itself and averts away when Lewis looks over. Their gazes don’t meet, intentionally or not, and that's not Charles' business to interfere.

And there’s Max, of course, with whom he shares long rivalry history, and what keeps them alive. Charles can see from his eyes, that they are feeding on the same thing, intense excitement in races and drowning in winner champagnes afterwards, and no one is more eager than the two of them.

They are so similar in who they are, fuelled purely by the drive to win, the absolute purpose of drive to survive. But they’re also so different, Max was so direct, so fearless, whereas he was too reserved and cautious. They’re like magnets, attracted by their similarity and the same heart, also contradicted because of their differences and rivalry.

Yet it was oddly intimate. Like they’re connected deep down, that he can tell what Max was thinking, just by a glance over the Dutchman, and he can almost feel the other’s emotions and thinkings, just by being beside him.

Max, on the other hand, would always be the first one to find him when he was hiding away, instinctively opening the closet and find the hiding Monegasque.

He would let out a small laugh, half sneering and half endearing, invade Charles’ personal, quiet haven in the empty stairwell, huffing out challenge and daring interest.

“You’re no better than anyone else.” Max would attack his lips, before planting kisses and bruises on his neck, saying “You act like you’re above all this, but you’re not.”

Charles hummed in passive agreement, he really liked the tickling sensation of how the other man kisses his way up his jawline.

“No I’m not. But I’m too proud, and just not yet ready to admit that.” He sighed while biting back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always had this feeling that Charles was PR-trained, but somehow the interaction was rather rigid and awkward, and it'd left him...lack of character sometimes.
> 
> He’d be more likeable if he let more of his personality shown, or reveal a bit more human / devilish part I guess :)


End file.
